


The Debate of the Century: Who Is the True Daddy of the Universe?

by alotofnerve



Category: Political RPF - Russian 21st c., Political RPF - US 21st c., Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Crack, This is weird, a play on presidential debates, based on an impromptu speech that was based on a "who wore it better" meme, my first hand at third person omniscient, so much crack, some last jedi spoilers i guess, who will be the true daddy of the universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 07:51:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13497774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alotofnerve/pseuds/alotofnerve
Summary: a debate that the history books will be talking about. Kylo Ren and Vladimir Putin duke it out with Lester Holt as the moderator who is secretly in love with Putin. who will win?who is the true daddy of the universe?





	The Debate of the Century: Who Is the True Daddy of the Universe?

**Author's Note:**

> the only reason why i wrote this was because i've been itching to write for ages and my favorite thing to write is political crack fics. a friend of mine gave an impromptu speech that i have an audio recording of so i used him for some of the dialogue.
> 
> hope you enjoy. or not. i can't control you.
> 
> (also unedited cause i'm lazy)

_ The scene opens. The stage is bright and well-lit, the hot TV lights beating down on the dark brown wood furnishings. Two podiums stand facing inwards but generally towards the crowd. The air is still, the room filling relatively quickly with the excited crowds, although their tones are hushed. Cameras cut from all angles, hidden beneath tables and chairs, in alcoves and hidey-holes. Abruptly, Lester Holt of NBC Nightly News takes the stage. _

 

With a deep breath, Lester steps out onto the stage, his polished dress shoes clacking against the wooden floor. The crowd grows quiet, their eyes searching him for hints of tonight’s debaters. It has been kept unnervingly quiet as to who will be speaking; the crowd practically thrums with a nervous energy that Lester can feel. 

 

He clears his throat. “Ladies and gentleman,” he smoothly breaks the silence that has fallen, “I’m Lester Holt of NBC Nightly News, and I’m going to be your moderator tonight. I realize that you are dying to know tonight’s competitors, but I’m afraid you will have to wait a little longer.” The crowd groans and a smile breaks out onto Lester’s tanned face. “Now, now, don’t worry. One of our two debaters tonight made a special agreement to participate tonight, and we must wait.” 

 

The crowd notes how he does not mention the other competitor. 

 

Deftly, Lester walks the rest of the way across the stage, down the stairs, and over to the moderator’s table. If any of the audience were close enough to see, they would have watched as a bead of sweat drips down Lester’s face. If anything, they miss the pinched look that adorns the normally-composed reporter’s face. Whoever the competitors are, they had to be important. 

 

The room is silent for 10 more, long minutes. The clock ticks slowly, a ringing sound that fills the ears of the audience, until, finally, a crash is heard from just behind the side doors. The crowd whispers excitedly. Who could it be?

 

The door that leads to the noise swings open violently and a flood of light fills the back stage. More whispering. The crowd waits for one heartbeat, two heartbeats, three heartbeats, until—

 

“ _ I swear to God, get off of me! _ ” a young man’s voice yells out, gaining decibels until it sounds nearly of a 6-year-old girl. The man who owns the voice seems to calm down. “Yes, yes… I’m the Supreme Leader. Get off of me!” He punctuates each word with a sharp breath. 

 

The crowd roars. Suddenly, a man (the one the crowd assumes has the voice they just heard) steps out onto the stage. For a second, the crowd scrutinizes him, his big ears, his long face, and, most importantly, what he seems to be dressed in. His torso is long and marred with scars that are very obvious against his pale skin. What, of course, is more concerning is his complete and utter lack of shirt.

 

Hidden in the cacophony of muttered words and confusion, a girl whispers to her significant other, “Aren’t high-waisted pants  _ so _ ten years ago?” And he just nods in response because he cannot disagree with her; they were, in fact, so ten years ago.

Knowing it’s time to get to introductions, Lester blusters out over his microphone, “Yes, yes. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you one of our debaters tonight: Ben S—” the man in question shoots Lester a hate-filled glared, so Lester hurriedly changes his words,  “um… Kylo Ren.” He turns to face the crowd, gesturing with a hand behind his back for Kylo to take his position at the podium. He can feel the anticipation building as the crowd whoops and cheers.

 

Collectively, the crowd seems to be asking one question with their eyes and body language:  _ who is the other competitor _ ? Lester smiles complacently, but inside his mind is running overtime. He knows that tonight will be a rating success once the word gets out, but at what cost? Will anything happen tonight to jeopardize national security? Or, God-forbid, Lester’s job? He shakes his head to clear the thought. 

 

Over his earpiece, Lester hears his manager give him the go-ahead to introduce the other competitor of the night. Lester can hear his own heart beating in his eyes, along with the racing hearts and minds of the crowd in front of him. Who, of course, cannot hear him over the rushing of their own ears. It’s inexplicable, the feelings they are all collectively having, but it is uniting.  

 

Lester shakily pulls himself to his feet. “And, tonight,” he announces over the din of the room, “facing off against Kylo Ren, we have the leader of the most influential country on Earth—” at this point, he knew who had written this speech, “—and the most handsome man alive: Vladimir Putin.”

 

And, this time, the crowd goes absolutely wild. 

 

In the far corner of the audience’s setting, a young woman faints from the sheer rush of hormones from the idea of seeing Putin. His handsomeness had been a constant part of her dreams, and here he was, alive and in the flesh. Unfortunately, when she fainted, her head smacked against the wooden chair arms and she died immediately from an aneurysm. 

 

This woman’s tragedy aside, Putin steps masculinely onto the stage, a wide smile gracing his handsome face. “Hello,” he says in his sexy Russian accent. Millions collectively swoon, and Lester has to fan his face to kill the growing blush. 

 

“Hello, daddy!” a young man responds from the crowd. He is immediately murdered for daring to speak so openly to Putin. 

 

“I am so thankful that you have me here,” he says charmingly. Kylo glowers at him from across the stage.

 

“We are thankful that you are here, too, sir,” Lester admonishes, before standing again and facing the crowd. “Now that our competitors are on stage, I would like to formally announce tonight’s debate. The question that will be posed to you all and those two up there is: Who is the true daddy of the universe?” The crowd stays stoically still as they ponder the anomaly. Who would be the true daddy of the universe? Lester continues, “We have two contenders tonight. First, in one corner, standing like a little bitch, we have Kylo Ren.” 

 

For a second, Kylo seems to fling his hand towards his belt, where he assumes his lightsaber is, before realizing they took it away before he went on stage. Disappointed, he goes back to sulking, watching Lester with a look of distrust in his eyes. Putin preens under the damnation of his opponent. 

 

“In the other corner,” Lester announces grandly, his eyes twinkling, “standing like the bear-mangler he is, is Vladdy Daddy Putin!” The crowd roars with laughter and joyfulness and approval; it was, compared to the tepid clapping that came with Kylo’s introduction, like a tsunami in a kiddie pool. Lester hushes the crowd and speaks again. “But, how do we measure the question I posed? How do we measure who the true daddy of the universe? That is why we are here tonight. I wish to have the two contenders battle it out—words only,” he adds quickly. “It will be up to them to convince you.” 

 

Lester goes on to describe the rules of the debate. It’s obvious to the crowd and to the contenders that it’s heavily favored towards Putin, but no one wants to say that, not wanting to risk death. Putin grins happily at the admission that he will have, overall, more speaking time than his opponent. Kylo continues to sulk.

 

After several minutes of setting out the rules of the debate, Lester says, “And now, I will let the gentlemen on stage defend themselves and freely attack the other. I will moderate as I see fit, although I expect generally a fair game from the two of you.” 

 

“I will,” Putin promises with a glimmer in his eyes. 

 

Kylo hesitates, then says, “I will, as well.” 

 

“Good men. Alright, I officially declare this debate as started. Mr. Putin, you are allowed to begin speaking.” Lester sits back down in his chair, getting comfortable for the long night ahead of him. The crowd sits on the edge of their seats, unable to break eye contact with the glorious figures on stage.

 

Because this is more of a town-hall debate, the speakers are allowed to move around the stage. Therefore, immediately after Lester ceased speaking, Putin strolls onto the stage, his abs rippling like breeze over a calm lake. 

 

“My fellow comrades,” Putin begins, “I would like to start this debate by analyzing the character and personality of both myself and Kylo over there. I believe that my credible assumptions and first-hand experience will prove to you that  _ I _ am the true daddy of the universe.” The crowd cheers and Putin raises his hand to silence them, a slippery grin on his lips. “I know that you are all excited, but you must let me speak.”

 

“Yes, sir,” the crowd chants in unison. Even babies, who have yet to have spoken their first words, chant along. There are cries of delight as parents realized that their children have spoken their first word in response to the great leader. 

 

“Good. Now, Kylo’s character just sucks. His person, in every essence, sucks. He is a loser! Look at him, he never wins. Ever. Remember that battle with Rey on that dumb Death Star planet? Like, the third time?” Putin channels Donald Trump into his speech, knowing that he is another man that will get the crowds excited. Also, Kylo doesn’t even deserve to have Putin’s eloquent speech describing his person. 

 

“Starkiller base,” Kylo interjects angrily. “It was at Starkiller base. Do  _ not _ remind me of what happened there.” 

 

“Shut up,” Putin says flippantly. “I don’t need to hear you speak while I am speaking. It would do you some good to learn manners.” Putin turns his head to face Kylo, his hip jutting out and one hand resting on it. He surveys Kylo’s form before shaking his head and returning his burning gaze to the audience. “As I was  _ saying _ before I was so  _ rudely _ interrupted, he lost to the girl who has never even held a lightsaber before. How do you do that? I don’t lose to bears who have never fought before! And, then, all of the sudden when she gets her perfect little hands on a lightsaber he gets all impotent.” Putin huffs.

 

In the middle center of the audience, a 12-year-old boy leans over and whispers into his friend’s ear, “Im- _ Put _ -ance,” before giggling madly. His mother shushes him and anxiously looks around to see if anyone noticed him speak. After several tense seconds, she relaxes back into her seat, relieved that no one heard her son. It was the difference between life and death. 

 

And Putin continues on with his diatribe, “So, one: he can’t fight. Okay? This man, who was  _ trained in the art  _ of fighting with a light sword—!”

 

“A light _ saber _ ,” Kylo interjects once again. He looks bored, but the sulk hidden as a scowl has not left his face. Behind his podium, he shuffles his feet distractedly, although one could take it as nervousness. 

 

Putin whirls around and snaps, “Did I ask you? No? I thought not,” before facing the audience once again. “As I was saying,” he repeats, “he cannot defeat a little girl who has never held a light sword in her life. So, he’s kind of a loser. As well as, he tripped over a hologram.”

 

“Yes, but, I was distracted,” Kylo says, holding up his large hands in a pausing motion. His jaw is set in an angry look, but he knows that he will be flayed for each and every mistake he has made in his past. 

 

“Shut your whore mouth,” Putin yells. “You guys all remember that, right?” The crowd chants an affirmative. “It was on the planet of salt, which, uh, was quite representative of the scenario.”

 

Putin takes a break to drink a sip of water. While he struts over to his podium, Kylo slips out from behind his to take his chance at attacking Putin. “I would like to begin my statement by saying that Mr. Putin is slandering me.” 

 

Putin swallows his water before making a shoo-ing motion at Kylo. “Did it look like I was done?” he asks rhetorically. 

 

“Well, yes,” Kylo says, looking embarrassed. “You were getting water. I think it is fair that I get a chance to command the people to believe that I am the true daddy of the universe and not you. Don’t you think so? Lester?” 

 

Lester is shaken out of his stupor at the sound of his name. He is embarrassed to admit that he had been staring at Putin as the man gulped down his water, his eyes tracing his Adam’s apple with a look akin to lust. “Uh,” he chokes out, “may you repeat your statement, sir?” 

 

Kylo shoots him a look of disgust. “I said, shouldn’t I get a chance to speak now? Mr. Putin has gone on for several minutes.” 

 

“‘ _ Mr. Putin is to get as much time as he desires to speak _ ,’” Lester quotes, looking down at his paper. “I’m sorry, but you agreed to the rules. Mr. Putin, you may continue.” Kylo stomps his feet like a toddler but stays quiet, moving to stand behind his podium again. 

 

“Yes, thank you, Lester,” Putin smiles, “I will make sure that you get a raise.” 

 

“That would be greatly appreciated, Mr. Putin, sir,” Lester responds. His heart grows 3 sizes at the idea of Putin doing something specifically for him. 

 

“Furthermore,” Putin states, gesturing to the crowd again, “Kylo experiences more impotence from his anger issues.” The crowd is flashed back to the encounter Kylo had just ten minutes before, where he screamed at the top of his lungs at the workers. “Where, you all know, he banged his helmet against an elevator. Now, why did he do that? It’s because, as Lester had said in his introduction, he is a little bitch. That’s why!” 

 

“Ad hominem,” Kylo mutters, but no one is listening to him. Even Putin, the king of constant confrontation, ignores him as well, cementing his unimportance to this actual debate. It’s obvious to everyone that Putin is the true daddy of the universe, but, of course, Putin does not wish to end there. He wants to destroy Kylo, push him into the ground.  

 

“What else does he do? He has his  _ entire _ army of AT-ATs fire upon one dude. Why? Well, because he’s a little bitch, that’s why. He’s scared of Luke Skywalker—well, I mean, that is a fair thing to be scared of (of course, I’m not scared of that little bitch); although, if you look at his skills, it’s not all applicable to his light sword. It’s mainly his piloting skills.”

 

“Luke doesn’t have piloting skills!” Kylo snaps. “He is just the old man that tried to murder me. What piloting skills?”

 

Putin falters for a second. “Yes… yes, he does! He’s the person who blew up the Death Star!” Kylo flinches in remembrance, although he didn’t experience the event first hand. 

 

“That was mainly the force,” Kylo pushes, “ _ not _ his quote-unquote piloting skills. Ugh.” Kylo looks disgusted at the thought of Luke having any sort of piloting skills. That is the one thing that Kylo has over Luke and he isn’t going to give it up.

 

“Point being: he can’t command an army and he can’t fight with a light stick. Now, I will comment on my own character because I’m tired of wasting my breath on this poor excuse of a man.”

 

“Hey!” Kylo yells. “Lester, must I take this from him? Can’t you do something as the moderator.”

 

Lester Holt sighs from his seat and leans into the microphone. “‘ _ Mr. Putin may insult whomever he wants in whichever manner he deems appropriate, _ ’” Lester quotes again. “I’m sorry, Kylo. You heard the rules. Please, continue, Mr. Putin.”

 

“That is another raise for you, Lester. And I will continue now. I am 100 pounds of pure muscle more than Kylo, the scrawny shrimp over there.”

 

“I thought you said you were going to stop attacking me,” Kylo says, resigned that the attacks weren’t actually going to stop. He plays with a lock of his long, black hair, wishing that he was at home or watching Rey or on his ship.  _ Hmm, _ he wonders,  _ what if we had one of those Force-discussions right now? How would she react? _ He is snapped out of his musings by Putin continuing. 

 

“Don’t question me,” Putin sneers. “Let us look at official physical accomplishments, okay? Out of us two, who has tamed a bear and rode it? That’s right, it’s me, Vladimir Putin. That twink over there hasn’t had the chance to even see a bear with his own two eyes!”

 

“I live in  _ space, _ ” Kylo defends, “where am I going to see a bear?”

 

“See!” Putin yells. “How could he be the true daddy of the universe if he hasn’t seen a bear, let alone tamed and rode it? Huh? Also, although none of you have seen it, I am rather efficient at fighting with a stick. In most situations, I don’t even need one!” The crowd ooh’s and ahh’s at the spectacular in front of them. Another woman faints from the sheer glory. “We also have Trump’s testimony to that fact.” Putin winks saucily at the crowd and millions more swoon. Lester, again, has to fan his face. Only Kylo seems unaffected by the charm that radiates off of Putin’s very being. 

 

“Er, who is Trump?” Kylo asks and immediately the whole world implodes before him.

 

“And he doesn’t even know who the leader of the free world is! How, I beg of you, could he be the true daddy of the universe?” Putin pleads sexily to the crowd. “Trump is my second in command, the leader of the United States. Don’t you keep up with our news?” 

 

“No, I have the First Order to run!” Kylo snarks. “I have far more important duties to uphold to.”

 

“ _ Furthermore _ ,” Putin emphasizes, “I am leading the most backward country on Earth while somehow keeping it afloat in today’s society with less help than Atlas gets to hold up the entire world! I, myself, am able to run Russia with such ease that I barely break a sweat. I was a bitch to Obama, but it was not hard, of course, because even the Middle East did it. I just did it with white people.” Putin now reaches deep down inside himself to appeal to the racists. “My country is the best, and it is entirely white. And, as we know from Finn, we have some… uh… defects in the First Order.”

 

“He was a defect for a whole other reason,” Kylo mutters. “At least  _ I _ don’t care about race.” 

 

“And so,” Putin continues, once again completely ignoring Kylo, “if we weigh this in a cost-benefit analysis we can see that someone who has no fighting capabilities, and can’t command an army, and their army isn’t strictly white, compared to me, who can fight bears among bears among bears among bears and who commands the great motherland of Russia (or, sometimes, fatherland of Russia), and also has a country of all white people. Taking this into account, who should truly be the daddy of the universe?”

  
The world goes absolutely still for a heartbeat, and then it explodes into cheering and whooping. Putin stands still for a minute, breathing heavily, before acknowledging the cheering with a knowing smirk and a slight quirk of his eyebrows. Kylo stares at him, jaw open, in shock.

 

Putin allows the cheering to continue for several more minutes before saying, “I believe this concludes tonight’s debate. Good night, my fellow comrades, and long live mother Russia!” He walks off the stage with such swagger that it could not be repeated if someone tried. Kylo still stands there, mouth still open in utter shock. 

 

“What?!” he rages. “I didn’t even get my chance to speak! That is bullcrap!  _ Lester, this isn’t fair! Make him come back right now! _ ” The crowd notes that Kylo, once again, sounds like a petulant child. 

 

“‘ _ Mr. Putin is allowed to leave whenever he wishes and declare the debate as ended,’ _ ” Lester once again quotes, although he is too out of it from watching the glorious hunk of a man leave the stage to even console Kylo. Robotically, he stands up and faces the crowd. “Thank you for joining me tonight, folks. I hope you enjoyed watching our glorious speaker destroy his opponent and make sure to tell your friends to watch this online. We wouldn’t want Mr. Putin to miss out on his publicity, right?” 

 

The crowd cheers an affirmative and files out, chants of “I love Putin” being heard as they left. Kylo still sits on the stage, pouting like a child with tears of anger rolling down his face. _How dare Putin do this to me?_ he thinks despondently. _I wasn’t even given a chance for rebuttal._ _It’s not fair._

 

“Life isn’t fair, Kylo,” Lester says from his seat. He is the only one left in the large auditorium, sans the janitors. “I’m sorry. Maybe next time you can debate someone easier to be daddy-in-command. Like Jar-Jar Binks. Good night.” 

 

_ The scene closes with the camera slowly zooming in on Kylo’s body. His head is between his knees. As the screen slowly fades to black, the unmistakable voice of Jar-Jar Binks is muttering something unintelligible, but most undoubtedly annoying. Kylo cries.  _

  
  
  
  



End file.
